


When Exactly Did I Become A Father?

by Panic_CelestialInk



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Father's Day, Father-Daughter Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Injury Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-14 17:53:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11213184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Panic_CelestialInk/pseuds/Panic_CelestialInk
Summary: Sometimes, you can become a parent without realising it.At least, that's what Roy Mustang and Scar are about to find out.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I decided that I wanted to write a little something for Father's Day this weekend. 
> 
> I wanted to explore the pseudo-father relationships in the manga/anime--and the more healthy ones, not like Father and the Homunculi, and not a very angsty one like the ones the Elrics have with Hohenheim.
> 
> Enjoy.

Sounds. That’s what was left for him. Fragments of sounds that he had to use to cobble together an understanding of the world around him. Sounds like the creak of the hospital bed as he shifted around, the ticking of the little clock on his side-table, and the whisper of the pages as the Lieutenant read her novel. In the daytime, there were other sounds he could use as well: the clatter of the wheelchairs, the murmur of voices and the loud footsteps. He’d become good at distinguishing the squeak of the doctors’ shoes from the nervous pacing of the visitors, and the slow shuffling of patients.

 

Roy leant back against his pillows. He’d learn to cope with it. He’d cope with the lack of colours and light. The lack of beauty. The inability to see the Lieutenant’s dancing eyes, or amused half-smile. But, what he couldn’t cope with were these damn vague answers whenever he asked about Al. He thumped his fist against the bed. Stupid damn doctors and their stupid orders.

 

“To hell with this,” he muttered.

 

He pushed aside his blankets and sat up.

 

“Sir?”

 

He ignored the Lieutenant as he swung his legs out of bed.

 

“Sir?” Her voice was sharp with worry. “What are you doing?”

 

“What does it look like? I’m going to see Al.”

 

“I’d have to advise against it, sir. It’s late and the doctors said—”

 

“I don’t care what the doctors said, Lieutenant.”

 

The Lieutenant slammed her book shut. “The doctors said that they might be able to restore your sight, if—”

 

“Lieutenant!” he snapped, and then softened his voice. “There is no way I can get my sight back. Truth took it as the toll for me performing human transmutation. An equivalent toll.”

 

“That’s not equivalent!” she snarled. “You were _forced_ through the portal. You had no choice.”

 

In Roy’s opinion, that was the only reason why Truth had opted to simply sever the optic nerves, instead of ripping out his eyeballs. But, he didn’t want to find out what the Lieutenant’s reaction to that theory would be.

 

He let his mouth twitch upwards. “You sound like Fullmetal.”

 

“Well, Ed’s  right. And, I’m not about to let you give up on yourself. There must be a way to get your sight back. You—”

 

“I’m _not_ giving up, Lieutenant. Not by a long shot. But, right now, my sight isn’t a priority.  My time is better used on something productive. Not on doctors’ orders that won’t help anyone.”

 

He heard movement over to his right, and a few seconds later, his bed sank under the Lieutenant’s added weight. She took his hand, and their fingers intertwined. Her soft skin was decorated with half-healed scabs, and the callouses from using her gun.

 

“How can I help you?”

 

“Take me to see Alphonse Elric.”

 

“Sir.”

 

Before the she could move away, he brought her hand up, and lightly brushed his lips against it.

 

“Thank you, Lieutenant.”

 

“You’re welcome.” In his mind’s eye, Roy could see the amused-half smile that he knew was on her face. “But, may I ask what you’re going to do there this late at night?”

 

“If he’s asleep, I’ll let him continue resting. If Al’s awake, I hope he’ll let me see his condition for myself.”

 

“How do you plan to do that?”

 

Roy held up his free hand. “I can still use these to build an accurate idea of how Al is. At least, if he’ll let me touch him.”

 

“It shouldn’t be a problem. Al’s always very willing to grant other people’s requests.” She gave his hand a squeeze. “Now, we’d better be going. Al is on the ground floor. We’ll have to navigate several flights of stairs and a few corridors, while avoiding detection by the night-staff. Your _condition_ might make that a bit difficult . . . ”

 

Roy sent a smirk towards her voice. “Don’t worry, Lieutenant. If we have to, I can always make a path to Al’s room with alchemy.”

 

“That might make it a bit obvious that we were sneaking around, sir.”

 

“It would be lot quicker, though.”

 

“You can’t be serious.”

 

“I’m just pointing it out.”

 

***

 

“We’re here.”

 

Roy started. The trip had been less eventful than he’d thought it would be. Though, wandering through the tomb-silent hospital made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. And, he’d heard the Lieutenant’s breathe stutter a few times. Though he couldn’t see what caused it, he had a suspicion that the long shadows, cast by whatever kind of light there was, were unwelcome reminders of Pride’s abilities.

 

“Are you sure this is his room?” He asked, as he reached out. He moved his fingers along the polished wood until he found the cold metal handle.

 

“I’m certain, sir.”

 

“Great.”

 

“I’ll maintain this post until you return.” She gave his hand a final squeeze and released him.

 

He nodded at the direction of her voice, and then pushed open the door. It creaked as he slipped inside. He stood still. He was definitely in a hospital room—the strong smell of antiseptic told him that much. He staired his hearing. The curtains were shifting slightly in the faint breeze, and the IV bag was making a small, rustling sound. He could hear blankets shifting, and heavy breathing.

 

_He must be asleep._

 

Roy almost turned to go, when he heard Al’s groggy voice.

 

“Brother? What are you doing here so late?”

 

Roy let out a low chuckle, and closed the door behind him. “So, Fullmetal has been sneaking in here as well?”

 

“Erm . . . no?”

 

“Don’t worry, Al. I won’t tell anyone.”

 

“Thank you, sir!” Then, Al’s voice became confused. “Sir, may I ask what you’re doing here so late?”

 

“You’re not the only one who the doctors are keeping under lock-down.”

 

Al snorted, and Roy grinned at the sound.

 

“Do you want me to turn on the light?”

 

Roy swallowed.  “ . . . I don’t think that would help.”

 

“Oh, shit! I’m such an idiot. I’m so sorry!”

 

Roy waved aside Al’s apologies. “Don’t worry about it. If you’ll just guide me to a seat, I’d appreciate it.”

 

“Okay.” There was the sound of fumbling, and then a click. Presumably, Al had turned on a light. “Okay. Walk forward. . . a little more. More. Towards my voice, that’s good. Okay, enough. Stop! Now over to your left, there should be a chair. No, other left. Yep.”

 

Roy followed Al’s half-panicked directions to a chair, right by Al’s side. It was one of those uncomfortable, leather covered chairs that most hospitals seemed to have in their wards.

 

_When I become Führer, the first thing I’m doing is ordering all the hospitals to buy comfortable furniture._

 

Once he was seated, he leant forward and steepled his fingers.

 

“How are you, Al?”

 

“Oh. . . . I’m great. Just fine.”

 

Roy furrowed his brow at Al’s tone. “Don’t try and pull a fast one on me, Al. I want a full report. Now.”

 

“Yes, sir. It’s been difficult, the adjustment, I mean.” Al’s voice softened, and Roy had to lean even closer to hear. “I never thought about what my body was going through on the other side. My muscles have atrophied so much that I get tired just by sitting up. And, my senses—they hurt. Everything’s too bright. Too loud. Even these sheets feel like they’ve been made from sandpaper.”

 

Roy’s stomach shrivelled. “Oh . . .”

 

“Colonel? Is something wrong? You look upset.”

 

“Do I?” He was going to have to remember that, simply because he couldn’t see other peoples’ expressions, didn’t mean they couldn’t see his.

 

“Is there something wrong? Maybe I can help? I think I can still do alchemy, if you need it.”

 

It was the sincerity in Al’s voice that forced the words out of Roy’s mouth.

 

“I was hoping to see your condition for myself, but it was a foolish idea.”

 

“But how would you . . .” Roy held up his hands, and heard Al smack himself in the face. “Oh, of course.”

 

“It’s okay. I’d better let you get some rest.”

 

“ . . . I don’t mind.”

 

Roy froze. “What?”

 

“If you want to see me  . . . I don’t mind.”

 

A long  silence stretched between them. “Are you sure?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Okay. I-I’ll be careful not to pull out the IV.”

 

“Don’t worry. I’ll just move it out the way.” He heard Al fumbling around, and then the boy gave a triumphant cry. “There you go.”

 

“All right” Roy stood, and carefully moved over to the bed. He lowered himself down slowly, noting that Al had pulled the blankets away from his body. Roy fingertips searched until they brushed against Al’s leg.

 

His stomach turned sour as his hands moved along the boy’s body. How could these brittle things be Al’s legs? And . . . oh _hell_ , he could drum his fingers along Al’s ribs. There wasn’t any muscle anywhere. Fuck, how the hell had this body survived for so long? Roy felt rage sear his veins, and he was almost tempted to tear open the gate and incinerate that white-faced bastard for what it had done to Al.

 

Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face, because Al’s voice was nervous when he said “Colonel? Are you sure you’re all right?”

 

“I’m fine. Lean forward.”

 

Al obeyed, and Roy ran his fingers along the knobs of Al’s spine, across the protruding collarbones and the indented cheeks, until Roy felt wetness on the pads of his thumbs. 

 

He jerked his hands away. “Al, did I hurt you?!”

 

Al sniffed. “No . . . it’s—it’s just the whole reason I wanted to bring my Mom back was so that I could hug her again. That’s why Truth took my body—so I couldn’t feel the warmth of another person. It’s been s-so long since I’ve been able to touch . . . and n-now E-Ed won’t come near me. He’s too afraid he accidentally hurts me. I just—I just—”

 

An instinct Roy hadn’t known he possessed rose up. He groped until his hand found Al’s legs. Then he slipped his arms beneath the thin thighs and lifted Al onto his lap. He cradled him against his chest, and felt him shuddering as he sobbed into Roy’s shoulder. He soothingly ran his hands up and down Al’s back. It was something Madame Christmas used to do to him when he was little, and woke up from a nightmare.

 

“I—I’m sorry, Colonel. I’m soaking your pyjamas.”

 

Roy tightened his grip. “It’s okay, Al.”

 

No, it wasn’t. It wasn’t okay at all. But, Roy was going to make damn sure it would be.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you are wondering, this chapter is set when Scar returns to central, but before he encounters the Elric brothers and has his confrontation with Winry.

Blood dripped down his arm and onto the ground. Scar scowled. Though the night’s black shroud hid him well enough, leaving any sort of traces behind was dangerous. He cautiously peered out from his hiding place—an abandoned building with no roof, cracked walls and sewage running through the back of the house. The stench was part of the reason he’d chosen it—it was a good deterrent. The street ahead of him was deserted. And, though he strained his ears, he couldn’t hear any sounds of pursuit. After a quick check, he dashed towards the manhole in the centre of the street. He shoved it open and dropped down into the water. He landed with a splash, and tried to breathe shallowly as he made his winding way through the sewers. It was the safest way for him to move around—as long as he could stand the maw-like darkness, the chilled water and the stench that made his eyes water.

 

After a few moments, as the adrenaline faded, he noticed the throbbing of his wound. The wound the State Alchemist had managed to give him, just before he’d destroyed her. The thought of the injury brought back memories of the fight. The State Alchemist hadn’t been the best at combat, but she’d been able to send wave after wave of razor-edged shards of glass at him, keeping him at bay until he’d managed to destroy the floor beneath her feet. She’d fallen into her basement, and he’d caught her before she could scramble free of the rubble. He paused in the flimsy light flittering through the storm-drain above him, and held up his left arm. Blood was still oozing from the slashed skin. He noticed glinting in the wound and plucked out a sliver of blood-stained glass. A few more pieces followed it. Thankfully, the wound was only on his left arm.

 

Nonetheless, he held up his right arm and inspected it. There didn’t seem to be any damage to the intricate tattoos that wound their way along his forearm and up to the line of scar tissue on his upper arm. As he looked at it, an image flashed in his mind—his brother bent over him, his glasses splattered with blood, frantically trying to stem the bleeding from Scar’s arm. He shoved aside the image, and was about to continue walking when he heard anxious chittering, and whirled around.  He caught sight of something black and white darting towards him.

 

“Xiao Mei?”

 

The panda didn’t answer. She leapt through the air, landed on his right arm and scrambled up to his shoulder. She tugged on his ear, still chittering. He frowned. He’d only ever seen Xiao Mei act like this when the Mei—Scar’s breath hooked in his chest, and he rushed forward, hoping that Mei was all right.

 

***

He pushed up the manhole and hauled himself out of the sewers. He was in the alleyway where he’d agreed to meet Yoki and Mei. It was a thin gap between two dilapidated houses. The walls were cracked, and covered in graffiti. The alleyway itself was filled with everything from the splintered remains of wooden crates, to shards of the glass bottles tossed about by drunkards, to scraps of paper—all  the assorted junk humans seemed to collect. Yoki huddled near a rust-stained trashcan, his grimy coat pulled tightly around him.  Inside the can, a small flame guttered. Scar gritted his teeth. The useless fool couldn’t even make a proper fire.

 

But—Scar felt his heart clench.

 

“Where’s Mei?” Scar snarled, as he stepped into the light. Yoki started, and fell back with a cry.

 

“Who?”

 

“The girl!”

 

A sharp trill caught Scar’s attention. Scar half-turned his head to look at Xiao Mei, who was still perched on his shoulder. The panda was pointing anxiously to the back of the alley. Scar shoved past Yoki and followed the direction of the panda’s pointing. He ended up reaching the brick wall that cut off the alley. There was even more rubbish back here—apple cores, old newspapers and huge stacks of cardboard boxes. But, there was no sign of—he suddenly noticed a thick, black braid snaking along the ground and disappearing behind the boxes. He thrust them aside, and saw Mei, sprawled face down. Scar would have thought her dead, but for the slight movement of her chest. He dropped to one knee, grabbed her shoulder and shook her. Xiao Mei dropped off his shoulder and started nuzzling Mei.  Mei’s eyelids twitched, and she mumbled something. He leant closer.

 

“ . . . hungry.”

 

Scar clenched his teeth. He slipped his arms beneath Mei and scooped her up. He stood, and started carrying her back towards Yoki’s feeble flame.  Immediately, the panda scrambled up his leg and took a seat on his shoulder. Yoki stood up and gave a nervous chuckle as Scar approached.

 

“Oh, good. You found her, sir. I—”

 

“Why didn’t you give her something to eat?” Scar snapped.

 

He laid Mei down near the fire. Although the night wasn’t cold, there was still a chill in the air. Scar pulled off his vest, and tucked it under Mei’s head. Then, he glared up at Yoki, who’d gone several shades paler, until he was the precise colour of a corpse.

 

“There’s nothing for anyone to eat,” he said, backing away quickly,  “She’s not the only one who’s hungry, you know!”

 

Scar started forward.

 

“Erm, what I mean sir, is, erm—” Scar shoved past him, heading straight for the street.

 

“I’m going to find some food for her. Don’t let anything happen to her. And you,” Scar glanced at Xiao Mei, “you’d better stay behind as well. You’re more responsible than he is.”

 

“But—” Yoki began, but stopped as Scar flexed his right hand.

 

Yoki swallowed hard. “Of course, sir!” He gave a sharp salute.

 

Xiao Mei rolled her eyes, and darted down Scar’s arm. She immediately went over and stood guard over Mei’s limp figure. Something in Scar’s chest ached as he looked at the pale, dark-haired girl. He shook himself, and disappeared into the indifferent night.

 

***

 

 _How could it be so hard to find food?_ He thought, as he pulled out another empty can from the trash.

 

Or rather, how could it be so hard to find food that wasn’t slimy from rot, and reeking? He crumpled the can and flung it aside. He opened the next trash can and gagged on the stench. There was no possibility of wholesome food in there. He smacked his hand against the metal, and winced at the loud clang. He looked in both directions, but nothing. The alley was as deserted as ever. And, as filthy. A thin ribbon of sewer water ran between the piles of sodden newspapers, and bones that had been picked clean by vermin. There was vulgar graffiti scrawled on the brickwork, and shards of glass glinted in the dim light of the lamplight above him.

 

He turned back to the trashcan. This was his only option to find food. His face was too recognisable to go into a store and purchase any food, even if by some blessing of Ishvalla he did manage to find some money. And, using his alchemy to blow a hole in the wall and steal something—it wasn’t an option. He’d use this—this ability to enact his vengeance, but that was it.

 

Mei’s weak voice echoed in his ears. His grip on the side of the can tightened. She’d looked so pale . .  . He dug deeper into the trashcan. Maybe there was something edible under— suddenly, he heard a gasp, and he snapped his head up. At the end of the alley was a young woman—barely more than a girl if he was honest. The faint lamplight lit up her face. She had large, blue eyes and long blonde hair that streamed down her back, except for a single curl that stood up above her forehead. Her clothes were plain, but Scar could tell they were from high quality fabric. In her hands was a large, paper bag. The wind carried the smell from it over to him and his mouth watered. Her eyes raked over him, moving from his torn, blood-spattered trousers, across his shoulders, and down to the arm he had stuck in the trash.

 

They stared at each other for a long moment. Scar wondered if he should just blast open the wall of the alley and run. Her eyes suddenly went hard. Slowly, she held out the bag, and let it fall to the ground. She backed away, and once she reached the street, she waved her hand in a _help yourself_ gesture. Then, she turned and sprinted out the alley.

 

Scar hesitated for a moment, making sure she’d left. He then slunk forward, and crouched down near the packet. He strained his ears, and caught the sounds of voices moving down the street.

 

“Catherine, where are your pies?” The first voice was a woman’s—haughty, and clipped.

 

“I threw them away.” That must be the girl he’d seen—Catherine, “I couldn’t finish them.”

 

“Are you ill?” This voice was a deep, booming one, which somehow reminded Scar of the muscular Strong-Arm alchemist he’d fought. It sounded worried. “You usually eat double that amount. It’s not normal—a healthy appetite has been passed down the Armstrong line for generations.”

 

“I just didn’t feel like the pies . . .”

 

“Well, you shouldn’t waste food, Catherine. There are plenty people who are starving and . . .”

 

Scar stopped listening to the lecture, as he opened the rustling paper bag. Plumes of steam coiled up, and brought with them a scent that made his mouth water. Freshly baked pastry. Roast chicken, and oregano. Just like his mother—he cut off the memories as he clenched his fist around the opening of the bag.

 

***

 

“Oh, good, you’re back, sir. As you can see, nothing’s changed and—”

 

Scar pushed past Yoki, knocking the man to the floor. He headed over to the fire, where Mei lay. Xiao Mei was there, still standing guard over Mei. Scar crouched down near the girl. The bag rustled as he reached into the bag, and pulled out a pie. As soon as the smell tickled her nose, Mei’s eyes snapped open. Her hand shot out, and the pie disappeared into her mouth. Scar handed her a second pie. And a third. Before he could hand her the fourth, Yoki snatched it out of the packet, and ran to the other end of the alley.

 

“I’m hungry too, you know!” He yelled as he took a large bite of the pie.

 

Before Scar could snap at him, Mei said. “Oh no, did I eat all the food?”

 

Scar peered inside the paper bag. The last pie sat there. A bit of filling had broken through the flaky crust, and revealed the soft flesh of the chicken inside.

 

“There’s one more left. You can have it,” he said.

 

“But, what will you eat?”

 

“I don’t need it.”

 

It was the truth. Back when the world had made sense, he’d often gone on long fasts to cleanse his body and soul. And, once he’d become a fugitive, he’d gotten used to the lack of food. “Besides,” he added, as Mei continued to stare at him. “we can’t afford to have you collapse again.”

 

Mei’s eyes slowly travelled to the pie in her hands. With a deft motion, she ripped it in two. Gravy dribbled down her fingertips, as she held out half to Scar.

 

“Here you go. This way we’ll both get something to eat.”

 

There was something in her eyes that warned Scar not to argue. He plucked the pie from her fingers.

 

“Thank you.”

 

He bit down. It was every bit as good as it smelt with a thin, gravy-soaked crust, and a filling that contained chicken, sweet kernels of corn, potatoes, and a few mushrooms. It was gone in moments. Mei wiped her mouth, and gave him a smile. Then her eyes widened.

 

“Mister Scar, you’re hurt!”

 

“Oh.” He glanced down. He’d forgotten about the wound on his arm. Before he could say anything, Mei was by his side and examining the wound. She immediately scrawled a circle into the dirt beside him.

 

“Allow me to heal your wound.”

 

He tried to pull away, by her hand clamped over his. “I can’t repay you for this,” he snapped.

 

“I didn’t ask for repayment.”

 

Blue light flashed, and the wound tingled for a moment. He tried not to fidget as he felt the skin and muscle knit together.

 

“There, all done.” Mei, and the panda who was now seated on her shoulder, looked extremely satisfied with themselves.

 

Scar looked away. The sky was still dark, but it wouldn’t be for very long. Once it began to lighten, the city would shake off its slumber, and the search for him would resume. Maybe they’d even find the body he’d left behind.

 

He stood and went over to the wall of the alleyway, where the boxes shielded him from the view of any curious passer-bys. He sat down and leant against the wall. The bricks felt cool against his bare back, and he closed his eyes. Then, he heard quick footsteps coming towards him. He snapped open his eyes as Mei leant against him, using his chest as a pillow. She closed her eyes, and was asleep before he could protest. And so was the panda, who’d curled up next to Mei. He stared at them. This was ridiculous. He was on a path of vengeance. He had to eliminate the State Alchemists that had massacred his people. There was no place for these protective, paternal feelings this Xingese girl quickened inside him. But, as Mei snuggled into him, those thoughts disintegrated. His arm cradled her, and he settled down for a few hours’ rest.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so the reason I chose to write the first chapter as a paternal Roy & Al is because everyone writes parental Roy & Ed, and I wanted to try my hand at writing something different. I love these two interacting, and wanted to see more of it.
> 
> Also, Roy is blind because, for some inexplicable reason, I cannot write Roy when he has his sight.
> 
> As for why Scar & Mei are here, I saw the most amazing picture of Mei napping on Scar, and I just had to write something for that picture.

**Author's Note:**

> And, so here is my Father's Day Fic. I hope everyone liked it (and I apologise if they were a bit sad at points)
> 
> I'd love to know what you think.


End file.
